


A Man of Few Words

by Brekah



Series: A Man of Strife and Trial [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brekah/pseuds/Brekah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke's mother dies Fenris tries to comfort her, only to find his attempts lacking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man of Few Words

“I couldn’t save her, Fenris. Why did I fail?”

Maker, but he didn’t know what to say to her. He’d hoped that assuring her that her mother was at the Maker’s side was enough—Sebastian had said it would be enough—but she was unwilling to fall into silence. What could he do? Words had left him. He couldn’t lay a hand on her shoulder, not after—no, that was out of the question. He certainly couldn’t offer her a drink. With nothing left he just sat there, precariously perched on the side of the bed, wishing he was a better man.

“I failed her, just like I failed Bethany.”

_Vishante Kaffas. Just hug her already._ It was clearly what she needed, words be damned. In a swift motion he could just pull her to him and end all of her suffering. He took a deep breath, but his arms wouldn’t heed him. He cleared his throat. “You’re looking for forgiveness. I cannot give it to you. You can only give it to yourself.”

She began to cry then. Fenris debated whether fleeing from the room would be better for both of them. He could hear a few of their company down in the main room—Isabela would be a good swap, maybe, but Anders was there and likely to use this situation to further weasel into Hawke’s heart. Fenris kept to his seat. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know what to say.”

“At least we can say you were right,” she murmured, turning her face from him and swiping away her tears.

He sat up straight; he could think of nothing useful he could have been right about. _Blood magic is bad?_ “About what?”

“Every mage has his or her breaking point. It doesn’t matter what it is. We all do something drastic, something horrible. We’re animals, monsters. We should be locked up.”

He closed his eyes. This was not the moment for him to win their argument—he knew that much. “I never meant to imply—”

“I tried, Fenris. You saw me try to use blood magic. I would have brought her back as something horrible, something even worse than what I failed to stop.”

“But you didn’t.” He did touch her then, a light finger on her leg. “That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you Hawke.”

She shook her head, pulling in a stuttering breath. “Only because you stopped me. Only because you’re always on guard, always aware of what a danger I am. Always ready.” She covered her face with her hands. “Gamlen wants all mages locked away now. Carver will agree, if he ever hears. Maker help me, I’ve done more to hurt this family than to help it.”

She was shaking horribly now, doubled over with sobs. He pulled his hand away, trying to find the words to tell her that he didn’t see her as a mage, that she was an exception to the rule, and that she was heartbroken, nothing more. _Hawke, you’re hurting, but I’m here to help you. I’ll always be here to help you._ He swallowed and hung his head. “I don’t know what to say, Hawke.”

“There is nothing to say. I failed.” The words were clear despite her sobs and Fenris sat still, afraid to move, afraid of jarring her to a worse response.

“No, Hawke, don’t say that—”

Fenris looked up to the new voice, digging his fingers into the coverlet. Anders crossed the room in quick strides, passing Fenris without a glance and hitting his knees before Hawke. Without hesitation he reached for her, pulling her into an embrace. Fenris’s chest tightened as Hawke’s arms reached around the mage, her sobs redoubling.

“Hawke, it will be okay. I know this hurts, but I’m here for you.”

“I failed—”

“It is not your fault. I will spend every day of the rest of my life telling you that, if need be.”

She had her arms twined around him, a sad pair on the stone floor. All the power in Thedas wouldn’t let Fenris move; he needed to say something, to object to the intrusion, but his mouth was dry.

“But I tried to use blood—”

“Hush.” Anders pushed her to arm’s length, holding her gaze. “You were presented with the option and you overcame it. You are a strong woman, Hawke. You must never forget that, no matter what pain you feel.”

Her arms went around him again and she buried her face in his robes. Fenris stared at them, looking for anything, for a smirk from the abomination, an apologetic eyebrow from Hawke. They remained as they were, invested in their own little world, utterly indifferent to his presence.

Fenris rose as quietly as he could, tracing silent footsteps across the stone floor. He didn’t bother to look behind him at the idyllic scene he was leaving; Anders was a selfish prig, an incarceration of evil and madness. He was everything vile and more, but still he was able prove one thing: Anders would always know what Hawke needed, while Fenris only knew what he himself feared.

Fenris brushed by the inquisitive looks of the others and stepped out into the sun, sidestepping when Isabela reached for his arm. He let Varric follow him to the front door of his mansion before closing it unceremoniously in the dwarf’s face and bracing it with a chair. He would have to apologize for that later, likely answering a few questions while he was at it. Now, however, was not the time; he’d have to get started immediately if he wanted to be black out drunk by nightfall.

 


End file.
